There's Gold In 'Dem Hills
by Underthenorthernlights
Summary: This is crack pot AU 'Modern SanSan.' It is taking place in the Klondike 1898-1899. Sansa stark is living under the disguise of Alayne Stone. This is a story of what happens when she meets a man from her past who works on the E.B. Claim. This story has some violence, mention of rape and violence against women, I just wanted to give this warning for those who might need the warning.
1. Chapter 1

**This is written as a namesday gift for the wonderful and not so simple asimplylucia.**

 **Special thanks as usual to my beta littlebirdhound.**

Dawson City, Yukon 1898

Church bells rang ominously.

Sansa's hands shook violently as she buttoned the front of her vest. _Fiddlesticks._ She had chosen a dark green travelling skirt and matching jacket trimmed in black velvet. Her hands fumbled over the small, round, black buttons and she pulled a black fur scarf around her neck letting the ends fall down the front of her. She stood in front of her mirror. She wiped the small beads of sweat that shone on her brow, the room warm from the sun beating through the large bay window. At seventeen years old she looked and felt much older than her age. Her hair was pulled away from her pale face and sat in a neat bun on the top of her head. The dark hair made her look more sickly than she would have liked, and her eyes were red-rimmed and tired from the lack of sleep. The trial had gone on for weeks, and the verdict had been reached just the day before.

 _A man of such crimes deserves more than life in jail. He will hang at sunrise._

Sansa could not believe he had been found, hiding here of all places, though it really should not have surprised her. Dawson City was booming. Men of all sorts were here to strike it rich or die trying. Just over a year before, Petyr had brought her along with him to set up shop. Sansa was good with numbers, Petyr had noticed. Her job was to learn matters of accounts and payables, and in the early days of their arrangement, he had her by his side at all times to teach her the rest. _'Where there are lonely men, there is money to be made,'_ he had told her, and the money flowed like the whiskey bottles that never stayed full.

Within that first year, Petyr had opened three brothels and two more had already began construction. Sansa never went in them at night, and usually did her work from their shared Parisian style two-bedroom hotel room on the top floor of the Bodega Hotel. He had taken her and hidden her away from the Lannisters, told her he would protect her; keep her safe, but there was always that nagging feeling inside that he wanted something more. Posing as his bastard daughter, Alayne, was easy enough though, especially here. She kept to herself mostly, although she had befriended a chatty woman, Myranda Royce, whose father managed the hotel, and Lothor Brune, who was her escort. When Petyr was away on business, and after the first year in Dawson City had passed without her cover being revealed, she had felt safe enough to begin lowering her guard.

 _Till the day they caught him hiding in_ _Karin's room._

That day would never leave her mind and had haunted her dreams every night.

Karin was the new girl. Not much was known about her, only that she came to Dawson straight off the boat from Japan, and could hardly string a whole sentence together in English, but she was beautiful, sweet and ready to please. Sansa had been working in the back room tallying up the books when she heard the confrontation at the top of the stairs. She ran to the main parlor and froze when she saw his towering form struggling to get away. It took six men to hold him down before he was hauled down the stairs. Word got around quickly that he had beat and killed the young whore and she had not been the first. A bounty was out for his head with over a dozen charges against him.

As the trial went on and witness were called, Petyr had ordered her to stay hidden away in a cheap brothel room across town, saying no chances should be taken in case the Lannisters were called to stand witness or anyone else that had ties to them. Luckily no was called. The witnesses that had found the dead girls were enough to sentence him.

' _Clegane Will Hang'._ That's what the Klondike News front page said.

Since seeing his face, she had been plagued with memories and nightmares that had been absent for a long time, leaving her hollow-eyed and exhausted. She had learned how to cope with the past, with the deaths of her parents and siblings. She buried it all inside of her, distracting herself in day-to-day activities, learning from Petyr, living as someone else.

Sansa shook her head. _I hope Petyr is right. I don't want to see a man hang today, but maybe if I se_ _e with my own eyes that he's gone, it will help with the nightmares._ She walked towards the door and opened it. The tall, stocky man standing in front turned around, smiling gently.

Lothor Brune was a godsend. He was a quiet man, but always kind to her. Even when she went to church either to pray or just sit there in the quiet, he never minded. He would stand in the background and let her have her space. He knew who she was, she was sure of it, but he never let on. Once when she was being bothered by an aggressive singer, Lothor pulled his knife on him and he was never heard from again. She felt safe with him and she was thankful Petyr assigned him to her.

Sansa knew Petyr was a man not to cross. He had always been kind to her, of sorts. He would caress her sometimes when they were alone and pull her onto his lap and kiss her. She did not like it, but after a while she put away the feeling, for who else would keep her safe. _There was one who said he would. A different man and different time._ She felt her eyes well up with tears. Lothor took her arm and patted her back gently.

"Don't worry, Miss, I'll stay by your side out there," he said kindly.

Sansa nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Brune. I'm not sure why I'm worked up like I am. That man deserves what's coming to him."

"Men like him don't deserve a hanging," Lothor retorted bitterly clenching his square jaw. "They ought to tie him to a tree and let the grizzlies stalk him. Let him die as he shits himself waiting."

Sansa smiled wanly. _He has such a way with words. Almost like…no. Don't think of him. He is gone._

The sun was shining bright already and a crowd was gathered around the gallows. The noose was high up, the drop at least six feet to compensate for the largeness of the man about to streets were thick with mud and Sansa had to hold her skirts up to prevent them from getting dirty. Lothor Brune steered her to the steps of the wooden boardwalk where Petyr stood. He turned and looked up at her with a sly smile when she reached his side.

"Hello, sweetling. Are you ready to watch the man die? If I was to place a wager today, I say he will be decapitated," he stated matter of factly, stroking his pointed beard. "Such a large man to hang and the weight of the fall will make it so."

Sansa shuddered and looked away. _I just want this to be over._ She clenched her jaw, thinking of the day her father and family drowned, and clutched Lothor's arm. She felt a prickle of goosebumps on her arms. She surveyed the crowd. _It's as if someone is watching me. Familiar._

She was soon distracted by the loud shouts of the crowd.

"Let him hang!" They chanted eagerly, over and over.

She felt a strange sense of adrenaline course through her. Again, her skin prickled. _Don't be such a ninny, no one knows you here._

She stepped aside and watched as the crowd began to part, and a large, lumbering figure emerged and was ushered up the steps of the gallows. He was crying like a baby, begging.

A split-second of pity came over her before she swallowed it down. _He is a monster._ Father Meribald stood in front of him, and she could see his lips moving, but his words were drowned out by the restless crowd.

"Let him hang! Let him hang!"

She watched on as the giant of a man wept like a child. An embarrassment for him came over her, and she looked away. She had to look away - past Petyr, past the maddening crowds, anywhere but there. A slight cool breeze caressed across her and gave her a shiver as her train of sight froze.

A large, broad man stepped out of the shadow of the Bodega Hotel. His eyes were locked on hers, never looking away, not even at the sound of Gregor Clegane's neck cracking, his body crumpling to the ground, nor at his bloodied head rolling out of the noose, landing with a thud.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ha! I told you!" Petyr exclaimed jovially, shaking Sansa out of her trance. She quickly turned to him and then back towards the hotel. _I could have sworn it was him. He's alive. After all this time... and he is here!_ Her heart fluttered and she could not understand why.

"Come, sweetling. I'm sure you have not had breakfast yet. You need to eat. You're looking rather ill and I will not be accused of neglecting my own daughter," he said with a wink.

Sansa nodded reluctantly.

 _I will have to look for him later. He recognized me, I am sure of it. He never took his eyes off of me! He must have known of his brothers crimes. He hated him. He told me he wanted to kill him... I am glad he did not. Even though his brother was a monster, he should not have that on his hands._

As they left for the hotel, Sansa scanned the disappearing crowd. _Maybe he went inside._ She followed Petyr, with Lothor Brune right behind her.

The Bodega Hotel dining room was bustling with people, but there was always a spot reserved for Petyr Baelish. The one thing Sansa could always count on was that she never had to wait in this town. People would see Lothor and Petyr and move aside to make way. _Money brings status here._ They had been part of the first wave of the gold rush, people clamboring into town to seek their fortunes, though Peter always said that _digging_ for gold was the hard way. _'Let them go work for themselve_ _s,'_ he had told her, _'then they will come here to Dawson City and_ give _me their gold.'_

His words rang with truth. Men would come to town with gold dust practically falling out of their pockets, then throw it all away on dancing girls and whiskey. She had even heard a rumor once that a gambling man bought all the eggs in town because his lover like them, and then fed them to his dogs. The eggs were a dollar each. She still could not believe someone would do that.

When the waiter brought them their food, Sansa stared down at the runny eggs in front of her and her stomach churned _._ She tried to convince herself that she was just still worked up from the hanging and not because she saw her past staring straight back at her while his brother was executed. _He is not here, maybe the in Saloon..._

"Alayne, darling..."

Her thoughts were interrupted by Petyr's smooth voice.

"Is everything okay?" He asked, his eyebrow slightly cocked.

Sansa looked up and faked a smile. "I am fine. The hanging and the excitement of the crowd must have ruined my appetite," she replied, pushing her eggs around her plate with her fork.

"Such things are not meant to be seen by ladies such as yourself," he said as he unfolded the daily newspaper."But perhaps with that man gone, your mind will be at ease. Don't fret my dear, your father will take good care of you."

 _You will never be my father._

She gave him a thin smile and stood up. Lothor Brune stood up quickly beside her. "I think I would like to collect my belongings and go upstairs. I would like to have some time alone" she stated as she looked down at Petyr.

"Yes, of course, my dear. Mr. Brune, take my daughter up to our suite and make sure someone collects her things. I will be along later this afternoon, though tonight I must step out. There are some important men I have to meet and entertain," he said as he stood up, placing the newspaper beside his plate and walked to Sansa's side. "You will forgive me if I cannot spend the evening with you, sweetling?"

He rose up on his toes and kissed her forehead. Sansa held herself back from cringing. _I don't want this anymore. I don't want to pretend to be his daughter. It is not right._

"I shall see you later, father," she said simply, and turned and walked out the door.

Later that evening Sansa retired to her bedroom. Dressed in only her thin, white-laced nightgown, she settled herself in the comfortable Victorian chair near the fireplace with Emily Dickinson's _Poems_ , a book Petyr had given her for her sixteenth birthday.

On occasion, Petyr had surprised her with moments where he seemed almost thoughtful, but Sansa could not help but wonder if he was only using these small things as a way to keep her from noticing who he really was. He brought up the subject of marriage several times since her birthday, and she had always tried to changed the subject as quickly as possible. He had offered to marry her, to offer her protection, but Sansa knew it was her fortune he wanted to protect.

After her family and Robert Baratheon drowned at sea, she was set to inherit the Stark half of the Iron Fleet, a shipping company her father and Robert were partners in. The clause in will stated that she could not receive the inheritance till she was eighteen. She was sent to live with Robert Baratheon's widow, Cersei, and his son, Joffrey. That is when matters became complicated and Petyr took her away. After a while, rumors spread that Sansa had died. Since it could not be proven, no one was able to claim the inheritance or dispute it for five years. That five years was coming to a close and Sansa knew Petyr had some sort of plan to get it. Though she did not like it, deep inside she knew that if she married him, he could protect her and prove that she had nothing to do with Joffrey's death. She shook her head to rid herself of these thoughts.

 _I should have been on that ship. I was a fool to insist that I stay in New Orleans with Joffrey and his horrible mother. I thought I was in love. He never loved me, not even a little._

Sansa closed her book, unable to concentrate, and set it on the lace tablecloth before walking over to her mirror to brush her hair. She loosed the bun out of her hair and began to brush it, wishing she had her rich, auburn color back. She placed the brush down on the mahogany chest of drawers and pulled the bell sleeves over her elbows. She shivered. Though it was already May, and the days were getting longer, the nights were still cold. She slipped on her midnight-blue dressing gown and tied the cord around her waist, before making her way to the hallway that separated her bedroom from Petyr's.

She and Petyr lived on the top floor, and besides their own suite, there was only one other that shared their level. It was usually empty, the tenant only occupying it once a year. Petyr had told her it belonged to a man that had come up here before anyone else. E.B. Holdings was the richest claim in the north, and the owner was a solitary man who did not associate with Petyr and his brothels, or anyone else in Dawson for that matter. It was said he was man of God and refrained from the goings-on that took place in the city, a fact that made Petyr scoff whenever they walked past the man's door.

Sansa opened her bedroom door slightly and peeked out into the hallway, but she did not see the usual sliver of light shining out from below Petyr's door. _He is still out. The evening is still early, he will be awhile._ She sighed, a bit of happiness came over her as she knew the evening was hers to enjoy.

Sansa went back inside. She walked through the kitchen doors, toward the stove, and stoked a small fire, setting a kettle of water to boil. She opened the silver tin of tea, and sighed when she saw it was empty. She had forgotten to ask Myranda to pick some up when she went shopping today, and knew she had the night off. Myranda Royce and her father lived downstairs and took care of Sansa and Petyr's day-to-day things such as cooking, cleaning, and laundry. She didn't actually do the work herself, but arranged it all to be done for them.

 _I wonder if she is downstairs._

She checked the kettle. It was nowhere near a boil, and Sansa thought to leave it sitting on the hot stove, but something made her move it off the heat. _I'll just run down quickly and see if she has any I can borrow. It is so chilly tonight._

Sansa unbolted the door and peeked back out into the main hall, the lingering daylight dimly shone through the window at the end of the hall. She glanced across to the other suite and noticed a light under the door. _The man must be here. I have never met him. I wonder what he is like._ Securing her dressing gown, she quietly closed the door behind her and ran quickly towards the door that led to the stairwell.

Usually, Lothor Brune could be found hovering around there, but she had met him earlier and suggested he see his girl, Mya, for a while. Sansa told him she had no plans to go out and she was only going to settle for the night with a good book. He smiled and tried to protest, but in the end he said he would go for just a bit.

Sansa grinned as she flew down the stairs. _Maybe with my help, a wedding will take place. I wonder where they would live? Perhaps I could convince Petyr to give them a nice room here in this building…._

Her thoughts were interrupted as she lurched into a thick moving wall, the force making her fall backwards. She tried to brace her herself, but cried out in pain as her wrist gave out, and she found herself lying back against the heavily carpeted steps looking up to the twisted face of Sandor Clegane.

He grabbed her good arm and hauled her up, his face just as gruesome as she remembered, inches away from hers.

"Little bird," he rasped, "Where do you think you're flying to?"


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa sat nervously on a high back wooden chair and watched as Sandor went through a black leather bag.

When she crashed into Sandor, she had been at a loss of words when he asked where she was going. Instead, she cried out when he had roughly pulled her up from the floor, but let her go when he saw that she was cradling her hand. It had really hurt and she felt tears pooling in her eyes. Without another word said, Sandor had taken her by her good arm and escorted her up the stairs as she stumbled every now and then, and into the suite across from hers.

His room was a simple one, she noticed, and despite the richly printed wall paper and heavy, red, velvet curtains, it was in no way as large or as elaborately furnished as the flat she and Petyr were sharing. The kitchen was a sit-in, softly lit by a double-rodded Jolin Arc lamp that hung above the simple kitchen table, and in the adjoining sitting room sat but a single black chaise.

 _I can't believe I am in here with him! He must've heard that his brother was to be hanged... of course... and came to see… but... how long has he been here?_

A shadow fell over her as Sandor walked towards her, a small jar in his hand.

"Give me your hand," he muttered, reaching towards her.

Sansa looked up at him. Though she noticed he looked leaner and his a hair looked thinner, Sandor was just as she remembered. His face was terrible and the same twitch still moved his lips. He had been wearing a wide-brimmed hat that had been tossed on the table in front of her and his hair, lank as ever, still covered his burns. As she looked him over, she realized she was staring, and his hand was still held open towards her.

"Are you going to stare all night? No, my face hasn't gotten any prettier," he rasped, his voice had a slight clip of annoyance to it. "Take your time, I've nothing to do. But the sooner you get this camphor liniment on your wrist, the sooner it'll feel better."

Sansa straightened up, "Sorry, sir, I...you surprised me," she answered, a bit lost for words.

He snorted loudly and pulled up a chair, turned it around, and sat down right in front of her. He took her arm and rested it against the top of his chair, slipping his fingers under her hand and softly pressing his thumb against the inside of her wrist, across it and up to the middle of her palm. Sansa winced at that and he stopped promptly.

Sansa sat primly, so close he was to her that she didn't really know where to look, so she looked at his hand supporting hers. She noticed how her hand stood out against his, small and pale compared to his large and tanned. His thumb rested in her palm, went straight across and covered her thumb and the nail was black. _He must have hit it with a hammer. His hand is so warm._ She sniffed and smelt the whiskey on his breath. _Is he drunk?_ She then noticed the empty bottle of whisky laying on its side beside his hat.

She heard him clear his throat and she looked up at him quickly.

"It's not broke, just a sprain most like," he said curtly, breaking the silence. "This ointment should take the sting out of it. Smells bad, though."

He let go of her hand and grabbed the small jar. He opened it and Sansa wrinkled her nose slightly at the strong smell of camphor. Once again, he took her hand in his, almost too gently. The silence stretched as he rubbed the ointment on her wrist. Suddenly she remembered what she was wearing and combined with feeling of him touching her wrist, a layer of goosebumps broke out over her. Sandor stopped and looked down at her.

"Cold, little bird?"

Sansa looked down and noticed her dressing gown had opened slightly, exposing the flimsy lace of her nightgown. She clutched the dressing gown closed, a blush heating up her cheeks.

"No, I suppose you're not. You look pretty warm to me," he said as he ogled at her.

A shiver ran through her as she met his eyes. _He looks almost ravenous_ _._

"What are you doing here?" Sansa asked timidly trying to distract herself from his intense stare. _His eyes are bloodshot...he is drunk!_

"Just came to town on business," he said as he quickly stood to grab a small glass from the cupboard, and set it on the table beside Sansa. He then pulled a bottle of Canadian Club out from under his jacket and cracked it open. "It was a nice treat to see my brother hang. I was celebrating and I ran out of whiskey, so I went and got more." Sitting down in the chair again, his legs spread wide open, Sandor took a long swig from the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He then leaned on his elbows against the back of his chair and pushed himself towards her. "Here girl, let me fill your glass. Help me celebrate the death of my brother."

Sansa's hand shook slightly as she took the glass and held it in front of her, and when he filled it, a splash of whiskey landed on her dressing gown.

"Sorry, little bird. You can take it off if you want."

She furrowed her brow at him and he laughed loudly.

"Ah, still a proper lady. Nevermind." He held the bottle up to her and clinked her glass. "Here's to my brother. May he burn in hell." He threw his head back and took another swallow.

 _I don't want to be rude. He is clearly upset._ Sansa nervously took a tiny sip and cringed at the taste.

"Not a drinker, little bird?" He asked, clearly amused.

Sansa grimaced and took another sip, this time nearly choking from the burn. Sandor started to laugh at her and she almost dropped the glass.

"Do I still frighten you, girl?" Sandor leaned in closer, causing Sansa to shrink back. "I could ask _you_ what you're doing here in Dawson City. I think I already know the answer," he said, a sneer on his face. "Didn't want to go with me long ago. But I see that sad excuse for a human got you wrapped around his _little finger_. Do you sing prettily for _him_?" He looked her up and down and took another drink. "I bet you sing real pretty. You've grown up, girl. A right little lady you are. Though I don't like the look of your hair."

Sansa could feel her face start to burn, it was not from the whiskey she was choking down. _How dare he!_ She thought angrily. "I don't know what you are getting at, but I think it's time for me to leave." She stood up quickly, placing the half empty glass on the table. "No matter what you think, I am a lady and I can clearly see that you are not yourself at the moment."

Sandor stood up fast and towered over her. "Not myself? And how do you know _that_ I'm _not myself_? It's been a long time, little bird. You didn't know me back then, don't assume to know me now," he said through gritted teeth.

Sansa raised her chin up in defiance. "You are still awful, that's plain to see." She yelped when he suddenly grabbed her waist and pulled her tight against him, his arms like a vice.

"Awful? Did you hear what my darling brother did to those girls? There's awful for you, little bird." He growled as he pulled her tightly against him, forcing her to tilt her head way back to peer up at him. "I never got to kill him, that's awful too."

He looked down at her, his eyes had a glaze over them. His mouth hung open as his eyes raked over her face and down the front of dressing gown that was slightly open. She gasped as he brought his other hand to her throat and traced a line down to the middle of her chest, then up, and wrapped it around her neck, his thumb roughly tracing her lips. Sansa felt a strange shiver go through her. She parted her lips slightly against his touch as she inhaled deeply. It was a feeling she never experienced before with any man. It was a need, not a want, a need to have him against her. It shocked her to the core, as he was a man who she never imagined could stir these kinds of feelings within _._

"Fuck, little bird. You're beautiful," Sandor rasped.

Sansa suddenly felt that he might kiss her. Her eyes widened at the thought. _What would it be like? What is happening?_

With eyes heavy-lidded, he stared down at her, looking like a half-starved dog gone rabid. He shifted his eyes down her again as he gently caressed her cheek. "I'd take you right now if you were willing," he murmured, his whiskey breath snapping Sansa to reality.

Sansa pushed against him, crying out as her wrist reminded her of her injury. He slackened his grip, but never let her go. "Sandor, let me go," she demanded breathlessly. "You are drunk, please let me go."

Suddenly his head snapped up and quickly released her. Wordlessly, he sank back down in his chair and buried his face in his hands.

Sansa's breath shuddered and her heart beat wildly. _What just happened?_

"I should go," she said as she clutched her dressing gown tightly around herself, and went to leave the room. She nearly reached the doorway, but some feeling made her stop. _I don't understand..._ She stood there staring at the dark oak for a moment, contemplating on what she should do. She sighed heavily and reached for the handle again, but she froze when she heard a strange sound.

She turned towards him and swallowed hard. Wringing her hands, she took tentative steps till she was standing in front of him, the back of the chair between them. _How can a large man suddenly seem so small._ Her hand trembled slightly as she placed it on his shoulder. They were shaking and the sight of it was suddenly heartbreaking.

 _He is crying..._

Sansa stood there, one hand on his shoulder, while she brought her other hand up and gently smoothed his hair, the unease she felt earlier suddenly gone. _He won't hurt me._

Sandor wrapped his arms around Sansa's waist and buried his face in her chest, his shoulders heaving. As she looked down at him, a sadness filled her and she could not stop the tears from falling for him. Sansa lay her head on his shoulder and let him hold her while they both cried silently. She knew his story, how his brother had shoved his face into the burning coals when he was just a boy. She felt such empathy for him. _He wanted to kill him for what he did. Now he is gone. What is he do with that?_

She continued gently stroking his lank hair, and soon Sandor's shoulders stopped shaking and he loosened his embrace and rested his hands upon her waist, avoiding her eyes. Sansa rubbed his arms slowly before giving his hands a squeeze, and gently guided them off as she stepped away slightly, wiping her eyes quickly.

"Sandor," she whispered. "Sandor you need to go to bed, let me help you," she said reassuringly.

He nodded with a grunt, and stood up swaying slightly as he looked at her. "Made the little bird cry. Fucking fool I am," he stated, as he wiped his face with the back of his arm. "What a man I am, crying on your shoulder. Might as well swaddle me up and shove my thumb in my mouth," he muttered, looking away.

"Come, Sandor, it's alright. Lie down, everything will be fine, " Sansa said, trying to be cheerful as she motioned to the chaise.

She grabbed his arm and almost fell trying to support him as they staggered to the chaise where Sandor stumbled once more, falling hard into it face first, cursing.

"I have to go before Petyr gets back," she whispered gently. "I'll see you in the morning, Sandor." All she heard was a loud snore. She looked around and saw a horsehair blanket on the arm of the chaise, and used it to cover him. His face turned towards her, his scars fully exposed, and for some reasoning she could not explain, Sansa bent down and softly kissed them before dimming the lamp and walking out the door.


End file.
